


Van

by izzybeth



Category: R.E.M.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzybeth/pseuds/izzybeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter can't figure out how he gets into these situations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Van

**Author's Note:**

> written because melissa2u won't leave me alone.

Peter Buck is currently lying on the floor of the van, wondering why he lets Mike keep him out so late after gigs. Not that he particularly minds getting plastered and flirting recklessly with basically anything that moves. And Mike is an excellent partner with his boyish face, charming grin, and quick mind (even after four beers). Not to mention his own fondness for flirting recklessly with anything that moves. Mike knows how to have a good time, which is something Peter appreciates.

He can't even fault Mike when they find themselves stumbling back to the motel after bar time, providing each other with mutual support. And if Mike leaned on Peter a little more than Peter leaned on Mike, that was okay too.

Neither of them had wanted to risk Bill waking up and throwing a shoe at them for making noise coming in, so Mike had dug around in his pockets for the keys to the van.

"Jefferson might be in there. It's his night."

"But I got the keys. And he wouldn't pass up a bed."

"I surrender in the face of your exemplary logic."

"I'm impressed you can say 'exemplary' and 'surrender'." Mike yanked the van door open, almost tumbling to the ground in the process.

"Oops. Gotcha. Come on, ya little drunk."

"Haha. Thanks, Pete."

"God your breath reeks."

"Yeah, and you smell like roses."

"Goddamn right. I showered. Last week in Jersey."

"Much good it did you." Mike flopped back onto the bed of blankets and shared clothing on the floor of the van, pulling Peter with him. He dug underneath him, pulling out his Bad News Bears t-shirt and throwing it in a corner.

"Ow. Let go. Your hair is up my nose." Peter extricated himself from Mike's arms and scrubbed at his nose with one hand. "You have stupid hair."

"Yeah, well you have stupid face."

"Shut up." There had been a brief tussle, which ended with Mike's arms around Peter's waist, and Peter scratching gently at Mike's scalp.

Mike wriggled happily. "Feels nice."

"You are so fucking drunk."

"Still feels nice."

"Your hair is still stupid."

"Your face is still stupid."

"Why don't you get a decent haircut? You look about ten years old."

For all Peter could tell, Mike hadn't even heard him. He stared intently (or as intently as one as intoxicated as Mike could) at Peter's face. "Pretty eyes."

Peter had been bemused. "I thought you said my face was stupid."

"Stupid face. Pretty eyes."

So here Peter is, thinking this is what you get, Buck, for letting Trouble show you a good time. Mike squirms around, closer against Peter. Peter's free hand is still tangled in Mike's (stupid) hair, and the other one is trapped under Mike's body.

Mike smiles. A slow, relaxed, drunken smile that makes something in Peter's belly twist and jerk.

And then Mike falls asleep. On Peter, or close enough as makes no difference. What. The hell. Was that, Peter thinks.

\-------

"Oh my god." Mike shoves his head under a flannel shirt that Peter's pretty sure belongs to Bill. "Fucking sun. I want to die."

Peter snorts quietly, by now utterly used to Mike's hangover dramatics. He goes through the pockets of a familiar pair of trousers (his or Michael's, he's not sure) and finds what he's looking for. "Aspirin?"

"I love you, Peter Buck." Mike uncovers himself long enough to accept the tablets and swallow them dry. "Hey. We're in the van."

"Very good."

"Not the motel?"

"Evidently not."

"How'd we get here?"

This stumps Peter for a moment. "You don't remember?"

"Um. Nope. I remember the bar, and oh, I remember the bartender. Redhead. Very... accomodating." Peter is patient while Mike waxes appreciative. "And then... uh. Nope. That's it."

"You had a lot last night. We wanted to avoid Bill's shoe."

"Oh yeah." Mike pulls the shirt off his head, eyes closed. "Hang on. Did you call my hair stupid?"

"You called my face stupid."

"Oh, okay. That's okay then." Mike sits up and looks around. "Where's my Bad News Bears shirt?" Peter points. "Excellent." Mike changes shirts. "My hair is not stupid."

Peter decides he needs to get Mike drunk again.


End file.
